


Long Live The Car Crash Hearts

by aimai



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alcohol, Drugs, JFC, Who am I, i hate writing why am i doing this, im so fucking lame, why the fuck not, yeah hey chris is in here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-07 18:56:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4274337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aimai/pseuds/aimai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of unrelated (or related. I dunno, use your imagination) Fall Out Boy drabbles and shortfics involving the antics and silliness of the members of FOB (and you).<br/>• Written because there are no normal FOB fanfics without pairings and smut so I'm hoping to spark a revolution of simplicity among the Bandom. Might or might not organize these into separate stories but I am lazy and stupid and therefore, they shall be clumped like this until I decide.•<br/>Reader is considered female because 2/3 of bandom is female so. trying to appealing to the general public here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Two Quarters And A Heart Down

**Author's Note:**

> • Dance, Dance high school AU in which the junior year of high school is the worst thing ever. •

You never understood why high school went downhill so easily.

Perhaps it was the peers, cliques, cliches, pranks, or homework, but it was like everything was about to go wrong and you couldn't do much beside sit back and watch the world crash around you. At least in freshman year, you were babied around by your seniors and teachers. In sophomore year, school got fun when you made more friends, but God forbid that junior year had ever reached you because now instead of laughing at a lunch table with the well-dressed and the hilarious popular upperclassmen, you're now trying to split a cafeteria-provided lunch with four awkward boys in your same junior class. 

However, that didn't mean that every day was completely miserable. When you and your dorky group had fun, you had _fun_. From egging your ex-friends' houses late at night to sneaking out to attend a decent rock concert, you all had found ways to sweeten the bitterness of high school life. And _holy shit_ was it worth it, even if you did end up in the backseat of a cop car that one Halloween (which was _totally_ unjustified. A few illegally-purchased firecrackers and a few dozen donuts never hurt anyone).

But despite all the ups-and-downs, you continued with your downhill spiral into unpopularity. And you did absolutely nothing about it.

"So," Your friend Joe spoke up while stuffing a soggy french fry into his mouth, "What's the plan for this week?"

You took a fry and nibbled on it. Bland, very bland. But the ketchup is across the cafeteria and you're too lazy to bother getting up and walking across a room just to get some stupid sauce.

"I don't know, anything special going on?" Andy opened up a bag of apple slices and bit into them.

"Uh, there's the dance." Patrick had mumbled under his breath before taking a gulp of chocolate milk. He didn't mumble quietly enough, as everyone turned their attention towards him while he spoke, "You know, the homecoming dance. The one everyone is stoked about..."

" _'Stoked?'_ Jeez Patrick, I know you've got a huge vocabulary. You gotta do better than that." You mocked, and Patrick glared at you as he sunk into his t-shirt, "but really, a dance? Why bring that shit up, that stuff is kind of... for lack of a better word, ew?"

"Oh, yeah I forgot to tell you guys about that thing," Pete spoke up, "yeah, I'm going."

Suddenly, you all snapped to look at Pete. It's like the same thought came to mind: _"Pete, what the fuck?"_

You looked at Pete while cringing, speaking up, "Dude... _what the fuck_?"

"I mean, you guys know that girl I like? Well, I asked her to homecoming, and she said yes! So, uh, yeah I'm going. Sorry, forgot to tell you all. Whoops." And in that moment, you wanted for Pete to choke on all the blandest french fries in the world. 

"Uh, dude. Not cool. But whatever, looks like we've got our plans for the weekend, I guess," Joe shrugged, "I mean, if Pete's going we might as well go. Gotta be his wingman or something. Also, I'm probably gonna be bored again. I don't feel like watching another movie at my place." 

Everyone either shrugged or nodded, agreeing that homecoming was a better way to spend the weekend instead of going to Joe's house and watching Pulp Fiction for the tenth time. It's a good movie and all, but everyone can agree that sometimes even the most persistent of teens can get a little tired of Tarantino. Honestly, Joe would pop another movie into the DVD player if he could, but his selection of movies was the worst and watching movies together as a group just didn't have the same spark as before.

The lunch bell rang, signaling for you to get to your next class. While the boys shuffled around to pick up their backpacks, you stopped for a second, and looked at them.

"So," You started, "If Pete's got a date, does that mean we have to get one too?"

Your question ringed throughout the heads of your friends, and they pondered for a good 30 seconds before they decided that _"no, that's gross and awkward, we're not putting you through that"_ and relief washed over you as you slung your bag over your shoulder and left to your next class.

* * *

* * *

You always thought school dances were alright in their own way. An 80's movies kind of way. As much as you loved the romanticism of adolescence in the media, you harshly reminded yourself that this was real life, and real life sucks, and not some sort of terrible fanfiction written by a bored half-asleep author at 2 in the morning. Despite this way of thinking, you somewhat looked forward to the day of the dance. It's been a while since you've gone out with the boys for some good old-fashioned fun, and you can't wait to get back into the game again. 

Until D-Day came, and suddenly you were feeling the most stressed you could ever feel.

"[Y/N]!!! Patrick is here to pick you up for the dance!" You heard your mother call from the stairs. Your red face banged against the back of your shut bedroom door, and you pressed an ear to listen to whatever your mother was saying underneath her breath, "Oh, she looks so lovely Patrick, you just have to see her. You see, when me and her father went to prom-" You pulled away from the door and grabbed a fistful of your hair in frustration. Your mom needs to understand that just because you hang out with a group of boys it doesn't mean you're banging any of them. 

You leaned against your bedroom door again to take a deep breath. It's only homecoming. It's only a big room of music and sweaty teenagers and watchful eyes and someone might spike the punch just like what happened at John's party last year and-

"[Y/N], you ready?" You heard a few knocks and Patrick's familiar voice outside your door, "because Joe and Andy are in the van and we all made plans so if you're not coming out, I have to call them and I guess Andy's gonna carry you to the dance himself."

Your anxious thoughts calmed down for a second and you opened the door, "Yeah, yeah. I'm coming."

You walked down the stairs, straight through the front door and into the van, ignoring the shutter and click of your mother's flash camera. You looked at Joe, who was in the passenger's seat, and then at Andy, who was in the back seat of the van with you. You saw a six-pack of beer between Joe's feet, and he read your mind before you could even open your mouth. Joe handed you a can and you chugged half the drink down before Patrick even got in the front seat and buckled his belt.

The drive wasn't long. In fact, it was way too short, and you wouldn't mind just cruising around the block with the boys and a pack of beer while you sang along to the radio. For a moment, it sounded better than going to a homecoming dance you never originally planned to go to, but you were reminded that "Pete needs a wingman" and that "you're already here, might as well drink some punch."

When the gym doors opened, you stayed with the boys while they watched the live band play their music. You rocked your head to the upbeat bass, and Joe just straight-up rocked out. You saw Pete for a brief moment, and he looked like a bigger dork with his date than when you first met him in freshman year. Nonetheless, you kept your eyes on the band and watched them play while your friends unknowingly dispersed, and before you knew it, you were next to the punch table alone with Joe. A minute passed, and it wasn't long until Joe had left too, and you were just alone, tapping your foot to the beat of the music. 

Your ears tuned into the singers voice, and for a while - what seemed like an eternity - you were hypnotized by the way the guitarist spun around in circles. _"Goddamn, this band is putting up a fucking performance,"_ you think, and your eyes widen when you see the bassist lick the guitar neck of his band mate. You felt yourself drool and quickly wiped your mouth. The song continued on as you shook your head to wake yourself up, and suddenly you realized you downed a few cans of beer before you arrived. The feeling of regurgitation was creeping up your chest, but you stopped yourself and pushed the crowd aside while you made a beeline to the gym doors.

In the midst of almost throwing up, the boys were having their own kind of fun, like always. You saw Joe get slapped by a girl, _hard._ Patrick went crazy in a mosh pit. Pete rocked the fucking dance floor. Andy ended up being a wallflower and reading a comic... then having a makeout session. 

"Good for you, Andy!" You yelled across the gym, but you doubt he heard you. If he didn't, might as well tell him later or not at all because for now, you were gonna heave.

You pushed through the double doors as the music came to an end, gagging over the nearest bush. "Holy... fuck," You groaned. The burning sensation of vomit was there, but all you could was let out a smelly beer burp.

Plopping down onto the grass cross-legged, you heard the gym doors open up. As you turned your head, you saw Joe in the corner of your eyes, and he sat down next to you. 

"What're you doing out here?" He raised an eyebrow to you. Once you started to open your mouth, he smelled your beer breath and gagged, "Whew, that's kinda sick. Get a breath mint or something."

"Shut up Joe," you began, "don't start with me. Why don't we talk about how you got smacked back there?" You pointed at the gym doors and smirked at whatever possible stupidity Joe had done. 

"Eh, I said something. I don't think she liked it. Now, why are you here?" 

"Oh, I'm trying to throw up but I can't. Kinda drunk. What'd you say?"

Joe motioned for you to lean in closer. You moved in as close as possible, but he still motioned for you to come closer, so you leaned in until his breath was against your ear. He started to speak, and your eyes widened, and you suddenly felt a wave of heat come over you, along with a bubbling feeling in your throat and stomach. You pushed Joe away quickly with all the strength your half-drunk self could muster and threw up right next to him, just missing his suit. Suddenly the scent of beer and lunchtime pizza bile hit your nose, and you gagged while Joe crawled away from the vomit. 

"Woaaaaaah, dude! Holy shit, that's so fucking gross," Joe pinched his nose and laughed at your embarrassment, "that's so fucking _bad_. Oh my God."

"You're calling me bad? What kind of shit goes on in your head," you pointed at him while red crept up your cheeks, "you sicko! Who in their right mind says that to a girl?"

You exchanged insults and laughter while the gym doors opened once again, and this time it was Patrick. He walked up to you, and once he smelled the bile, he immediately cringed.

"Whew, that's nasty. Is that your's, [Y/N]?" Patrick reached into his pocket and tossed you a tin of Altoids.

"Shut up," You picked out a couple mints before giving the tin back to Patrick. When he leaned closer to you, you could see that one of his eyes were red, and bruises formed along his jaw, "Those are nice." you said, poking his red face. He flinched slightly, but shrugged it off. 

"I don't think those moshing kids like me," he said, "probably because I hit like, two of them straight in the face."

Joe snickered for a moment, then moved to the other side of you - away from the puke, "Well I wouldn't like you either if you hit me in the face." Joe looked at you, and patted your back while you gagged a little more. "Hold her hair back, Patrick."

"No, no dude. I'm good. Just need to breathe for a bit," you said. Patrick shuffled away from you, next to Joe, away as possible from the puke. You hear the gym doors open again, and this time, it's both Andy and Pete. 

"Whoo, golly, what a night, don't you think?" Pete put his hands into his pockets and grinned, looking at Andy with a knowing face.

"Not bad at all," Andy added. He turned his head and noticed you sitting next to your pile of puke and squinted, checking to see if it was, in fact, actually you sitting next to a pile of puke, "Woah."

The pair walked towards you and awkwardly stood in front of your groggy self. Pete rubbed your back and Andy tossed you a half-filled water bottle. 

"She's a bit of a lightweight." Patrick looked at you and laughed, and you shot him a glare, "Hey, let's agree to not do this again... ever. Next week, my house, we can go to Blockbuster if it helps us avoid Pulp Fiction."

The boys all look at each other, then look at your reddened, drunken self. Pete shrugs, obviously having enjoyed his night and his date, but he turns and gives you a look of sympathy. "Sorry for not really planning this shit. Blockbuster, movie, no alcohol - deal?" He questions.

"No need to apologize. We're cool, Pete. And, uh, deal." You say, and you shake his hand before throwing up on the grass again.

You hear the boys groan out of disgust while Patrick shuffles through his pockets for mints.


	2. And I'm The Holy Water You Have Been Without

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Release The Bats Pete has a brilliant idea on the Fourth of July.

The Fourth of July was always an energetic holiday, and the fireworks that set off in the sunset added onto the fairytale-like scenery. It was gorgeous, uplifting, and absolutely lovely. Each year felt more beautiful than the last, and you thought, "These are the kind of days that I wish would last forever."

As you heard another bang go off in the sky, you walked out the front door with an empty bucket in your hand, and your eyes widened as you saw Pete cradling a variety of poppers and sparklers.

Oh yeah, Fourth of July was also dangerous. Because Pete was there.

Pete was fun, creative, energetic - You always had a good time whenever you were around him and his friends. But some days, he would take his wonderful, gifted traits of his and take it a step further. For example, the last Fourth of July was not as safe as a Fourth of July should be. When Chris ended up with his left ass cheek burnt off and a backyard lit on fire, you made a mental note that bottle rockets were to be handle carefully and water should always be on hand. 

So here you were, on the front lawn with a hose filling a bucket up with water. Pete was in the middle of the cul-de-sac, giggling uncontrollably as he set the fireworks down on the sidewalk in front of you. As you looked up to make eye contact, he grinned and you immediately knew he had something silly playing out in his head. 

"Hey, [Y/N], I've got a plan." He sorted through the fireworks as you watched the bucket slowly fill up with water.

"Do I want to know, Pete?" You cringed for a second. Pete had the worst ideas, you thought, and if it was any worse than throwing cherry bombs at a brick wall, then you knew you needed to prepare a second bucket of water. 

"Yes, yes you do," He picked a small firework out of the pile of explosives, "You see, I'm gonna put an apple on my head. And Chris is gonna light this," he waved the rocket in front of your face, "and he's totally gonna shoot the apple off of my head. Clean off."

"Pete, if you do that I don't think you'll have a head after tonight." You checked your bucket - almost full. You walked back to the house and turned off the water.

"Nah, [Y/N], I'm always getting head." He winked at you as you coiled the hose near the faucet.

You left the conversation at that, because honestly, with Pete, _why bother._ You watched as he picked a beer out of the cooler and went back into the house.

* * *

* * *

"So," Patrick sat next to you on the curb of the sidewalk, a cooler by his side, "He's really gonna do this?"

You wondered if anyone in else in the gang had the same amount of sanity that you and Patrick had. Then, you remembered Joe and Andy, who were across the street from you two watching Pete's antics with a beer in hand. 

"I guess so." You waved to Andy from across the street, and when he pointed to Pete and made a questioning face, you shrugged.

Pete's video camera was set on the hood of a car, getting a clear shot of whatever stupidity will be witnessed by you and your friends. 

Patrick opened up the cooler, "Juice or beer?" He asked you. 

"Surprise me."

He tossed a Capri-Sun into the air and you caught it easily, thanking him before stabbing the juice pouch with a straw.

You looked at Pete. He was in the middle of the cul-de-sac with a bright red bicycle helmet on his head, and the bucket of water next to him in case of an emergency. You wondered if this stunt would actually be pulled off, and as soon as your mind wandered to Pete's face being blown up, you shuddered at the thought and finished your juice quicker than you wanted to.

Pete stood with confidence, and you grabbed onto Patrick's arm as Chris put an apple on his head. 

"Dude, this is not gonna end up well." Patrick leaned into your grip. He was on edge as much as you were.

Chris stepped back a few feet and carefully aimed the firework at Pete's head.

"Ready, dude?"

"Ready," Pete shook the jitters out of his hands.

Chris lit the firework and you shuddered at the high-pitched whistling before it quickly left the ground and shot straight at Pete's head.

You, along with everyone else, started screaming out of pure amazement when the apple was knocked off Pete and the firework quickly passed by. You shot up and crushed your Capri-Sun into the ground (you wished you had a can of beer now, because that would have had a better effect than the quiet crinkling of a juice pouch) while screaming, "GOD FUCKING DAMMIT PETE." 

Patrick slumped onto the sidewalk, having a mini-heart attack. Andy was laughing his ass off, and you and Joe yelled at each other from across the street, "FUCK YEAH."

Everyone stopped once they heard loud popping and whistling - too loud for a firework. But it was a firework nonetheless - the same firework that Chris had shot towards Pete - and it was crackling in a neighbor's front lawn, moving towards a bush. You all watched in amusement as the firework went off, shooting sparks in all kinds of direction, lighting the neighbor's hedges on fire.

"Well, that's way better than a firework," Pete joked. His hair was on fire, and you saw a few wisps of smoke coming from under his helmet. A couple of sparks from the firework lit his hair. You leaned into Patrick and told him what you saw, and he immediately ran to Pete, screaming and patting his head. You looked at the two from across the street while Chris ran with the bucket of water to put out the fire.

You made a mental note to prepare two buckets of water next time.

 


	3. He's Well-Hung And I Am Hanging Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> High School AU - Patrick thinks he has a crush on you. The result is awkward.

The bond between you and the guys was one that would be remembered for centuries. When you were accompanied by them, you felt your friendship grow stronger, and over the course of three years, you all felt like the connection was unbreakable. With them, you felt in-sync, you felt at home. The guys agreed to this; they felt you were a crucial part of their lives as you did them. Nothing could ruin it.

Patrick, however, had a few feelings stirred up in his chest.

Although you and boys agreed long ago to not become romantically involved with each other (the "Bro-Code", you called it. You all knew that the possibility of dating or urges between you and the boys was likely, so it was good to break the ice before it started cracking), lately Patrick had felt his face redden at that thought of you. He didn't know why he liked you - he just felt an odd attraction to you, one that could only be expressed with an acoustic guitar and a few hastily-written love notes that he would crumple and throw away once he was done writing them. 

Then again, Patrick would never say he was in love with you. He'd do the elementary school thing and say that he "like-like"s you. He knew the feeling wasn't love, perhaps a simple infatuation that would fade away over the months. However, the feeling lengthened the days, and a week felt like an eternity - Patrick was ready to explode. He had to say something.

So, at a random high school party in a house that belonged to someone you didn't know, Patrick planned to muster up his courage to confess his undying "like-like" to you. 

But bad timing was apparently on the schedule, as you immediately ditched him and the boys for a cup of punch and a little bit of exploration around the house, because let's be honest, _who knows what fun things you could collect in a stranger's house?_

With each cup of punch you drank, the time zipped by as you pocketed seashell-shaped soaps from the bathroom, a silver ring from a small jewelry box, and some random girl's phone number. _Not bad_ , you thought. Might give her a call later, just for fun.

Meanwhile, Patrick sat out on the front porch of the house, being the angsty teenager he was. He looked at the night sky and ignored the blaring of music from party, thinking about how stupid he was for not telling you earlier. Speak of the devil, however, because you exited the front door and sat down next to him while he cursed at himself internally for thinking about you.

"Yo," you started. You pulled a cigarette out from your pocket and put it between your lips. "What're you doing out here?"

"Just chillin'," Patrick looked at the cigarette and shook his head, "You really need to stop smoking. That shit sucks."

"Yeah, yeah. But I do it for the sake of punk rock," You joke, and you light the cigarette and be sure to blow the smoke away from Patrick's face. He smiled awkwardly and nodded as a way to thank you for your consideration.

A few minutes pass and you and Patrick drowned out the music and soon heard the obnoxious chirping of crickets. He was on edge, you noticed, and you didn't bother to say anything because you simply didn't feel like talking. Just watching the stars is good to take some amount of edge off, you hope, and therefore you can avoid whatever awkwardness is looming over your friend.

"Hey, [Y/N]," Patrick began. You exhaled sharply. _Here we go,_ you thought, "I need to ask you for some, uh, advice."

"No problem. Shoot." You took another drag of smoke and breathed.

"If you like someone, like uh, _'like-like'_ them, what do you do?"

You laughed for a second, and teased him for using the words "like-like". You turned your body to give Patrick your full attention, "Didn't know you had a crush on somebody, Patrick. Did you tell the guys?"

"No, I've kept it to myself. And I don't really like it - I want to get rid of it."

"Who is it?" You leaned in closer and noticed that Patrick's face was red.

"Not important. So, uh. What do you do to get rid of it?" He kept eye-contact with you as if he couldn't pull away, and he didn't. Your eyes were locked on the other's; You had amusement showing through yours and Patrick had embarrassment in his. 

You told Patrick how in middle school, you had the biggest crush on a boy for two years, "Once I mustered up the courage to tell him I liked him, I stopped liking him almost instantly," You laughed at the irony of the story, "Yeah, I stopped thinking about him altogether. I think crushes are those things you get off your chest, so you might as well just confess because there's no shame in it. Afterwards, you feel lighter." You crushed your cigarette against the ground, putting it out.

Patrick nodded and turned away from you for a moment, then turned back to face you, "[Y/N], don't tell the guys, but I kind of 'like-like' you."

You snickered at the words 'like-like', and soon put on a straight face as you grabbed Patrick's shoulders and looked him straight in the eye, "Dude, that is _so_ lame." You smirked, "Also, that breaks Bro-Code."

"Yeah I know," Patrick shrugged. He still looked on-edge, and once you made eye-contact again, you knew exactly what he was thinking of.

"Dude, are you really..." You hesitated, "You wanna kiss?"

"Yeah, uh. We don't have to if you don't want to." Patrick looked at you and ruffled the hair under his hat.

You looked at Patrick curiously, and it only made him more nervous. Despite the tension, you leaned in halfway to kiss him, and you shut your eyes closed, waiting for a small peck on the mouth.

You didn't wait long, as you felt his breath against your mouth. His lips touched yours, and as he closed the space between you your eyes opened and met with his. Shit, wait. Patrick's eyes are open too. What the fuck?

For a moment, you two looked at each other while kissing, and you furrowed your eyebrows before pulling away.

"Uh, dude. I don't like this." You stuttered.

"I agree," He grimaced, "Good news though, I don't feel anything for you anymore."

You nodded awkwardly.

"So..."

"So, let's not talk about this? Ever."

"No problem. I'll keep my mouth shut. See you at school." You stood up and brushed the dirt off your legs before disappearing back into the house, leaving Patrick on the porch alone.

Once you closed the door, you were immediately greeted by the stares of Joe and Andy, and a knowing smirk that belonged to Pete.

"You broke Bro-Code."

"Shut up."

 


End file.
